


Agape and Eros

by Evandar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Time Loop, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4127700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/pseuds/Evandar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel’s approach to relationships is similar to his approach to reality - if you don’t like it; change it at will. But some things can’t be changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agape and Eros

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2015 fest on Angels Radio on LJ, and is based on the song _Gold_ by Imagine Dragons.

He’s pretty sure love isn’t supposed to feel like this. In fact, he _knows_ it isn’t. He was created for love, after all _(and justice and vengeance and power)_ and this love is nothing like it should be.

If he wanted, he could wipe Sam Winchester from existence with a snap of his fingers. 

Compared to the love he knew, so long ago - _agape_ the Greeks called it, smart bastards that they were – this is nothing. It’s insignificant. It’s the dust that comes off a butterfly’s wings as it flaps up a storm. The knowledge that his true voice would make Sam’s ears bleed, and that his true form would sear the eyes out of his skull in the split seconds before the sight of him would rip Sam’s mind apart, it… _(hurts)_ makes him think that maybe he should just snap Sam off the map. One human amongst many. He’d probably be doing the world a favour, judging by the way Luci’s name has been carved in blood all over Sammy’s soul.

But.

The first time Sam says he loves him, it’s whispered after sex as the hunter strokes a hand down Gabriel’s spine. It’s the timing that saves Sam’s life – he doesn’t know that beneath the sheets and the cover of darkness, Gabriel gathers enough of his grace into his fingertips to break Sam down into atoms and scatter him across five different realities. It’s the timing that saves Sam’s life because Gabriel’s spent enough time around humans to know that they like to talk a lot of crap in bed, and as Sam’s breath evens out and his hand relaxes on the curve of Gabriel’s ass, Gabriel lets his gathered power dissipate without effect.

He spends the night listening to Sam’s heart beating, slow and steady, and reminds himself of the other Sams – the ones made from his grace back in the days before he could have the real thing whenever he wanted – and how this Sam, for all that he’s _real_ , isn’t any more permanent.

_(He can leave when he wants. Nothing, not even love beyond measure, has stopped him before – in fact, love is the best reason to go.)_

He stays.

He bugs the crap out of Dean, eats a hell of a lot of candy, and fucks Sam in a series of motel rooms of various quality. Sam doesn’t say _it_ again, so Gabriel brushes it off and focusses instead on saving the world from his dumb-fuck brothers _(the ones he loves)_.

When it happens again, it surprises Sam too. It spills out of his mouth in a diner, halfway through dessert, and he freezes. Gabriel can see the excuses building behind his eyes, hear the jumble of half-formed panic in his head _(just as loudly as he can hear his vessel’s heart beating)_ and he shoots Sam a smirk around a spoonful of chocolate sundae.

“That’s because I’m awesome,” he says.

It’s an out. He listens to Sam’s thoughts as they screech to a halt. Tries to pretend that the relief that saturates the air around them doesn’t make his sundae taste sour and his lungs feel too small. 

“Literally and figuratively,” Sam agrees.

And that is that, and that is _enough_.

Gabriel goes to Iran.

Back in the day, this place was _his_. His to guard and protect and – once – to almost destroy in a fit of rage. He wanders the desert, tracing paths over the ruins of the places he annihilated, and listens to the screams that still echo through time.

_(He is still an Archangel.)_

He spreads his wings through dimensions and across worlds; NASA report solar flares and new discoveries; ‘angel radio’ explodes with noise.

And with a snap of his fingers, it never happened. He’s back in the diner with Sam, with a chocolate sundae in front of him and a whole new scenario ready to happen. ‘Angel radio’ makes for miserable background noise _(better than Metallica, though)_ and there’s nothing about returning Archangels where there shouldn’t be.

The glory of having a world of power to call your own.

Sam still says it. He says it again the next time round, and the next, and the next. Each time, it’s an accident, and each time, Gabriel gets a head-full of self-recriminations. No matter how the story goes, it ends the same.

He breaks the time-loop after the fiftieth round, and walks out of the diner with his hand tucked in Sam’s. It hasn’t got any easier to listen to, but he’s remembered how much Sammy hated being stuck in the same day over and over _(he did that)_ so it’s time to move on.

And on.

He doesn’t know whether or not to count the times in the loop as separate or as one, so he stops keeping track and starts listening instead. To the way Sam laughs and the way Sam says his name. He studies the way Sam pauses or freezes – he’s _expecting_ divine justice, Gabriel realises, and it makes his chest ache to realise that he almost gave it.

Either that, or he’s waiting for a reply. 

Love isn’t supposed to be like this, Gabriel thinks, but even after all this time he’s never been taught anything except the most obsessive one-sided forms of it, and the thought that things should be different is slow in coming.

When it does - and it hits him one night as he fixes Sam’s shoulder; idiot let a ghost get the drop on him and tombstones aren’t soft - it’s the night he starts wondering if there’s a cupid out there that needs its wings ripped off. _(He’s the Archangel of Vengeance, not just Mercy.)_ He still says it, soft and sarcastic – “love you too, Sammich” – and his fingers are poised behind his back, ready to snap the moment out of time and space if necessary.

It isn’t.

Sam just blinks at him, fuzzy from lack of sleep and residual pain and the painkillers Dean-o gave him in the car.

So he doesn’t.

He snaps Sam out of his clothes instead, and tucks him into the motel bed, and he leaves him to perch on the rings of Saturn.

“I love Sam Winchester,” he tells the solar system at large. _(There’s no one in space to hear you scream.)_ It feels odd to say it, worse to hear, and worse still is the knowledge that sinks to the core of his being – the knowledge that it’s true.

He makes sure he’s there, when Sam wakes up. He makes sure that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, candy bar in hand, with a smile on his face.

And he makes sure that Sam doesn’t remember what he said the night before. 

He knows love isn’t supposed to go like this, but he knows that if he’s going to go through with it, he’s going to _make it_ \- and he’s going to make it right.

He’s an Archangel, after all. He was made to love.


End file.
